


Tiny Tawdry Tales

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Other, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 02:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2133081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of little nuggets of Dragon Age-related smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flesh & Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one moment Shale regrets her existence as a nigh invincible golem.

### Flesh & Stone

As usually Shale was minding her own business and stewing in her hatred of birds, when Sten passed by her. If the golem had had eyebrows, she would certainly have raised them. The Qunari was wearing nothing but a tight pair of breeches, showing off every powerful muscle in the man's impressive frame. Over his shoulder was slung a rough towel.

" _Kadan_ ," he greeted her with a solemn nod.

All Shale could do in response was nod back; her mouth seemed unable to speak, her mind unable to form a coherent thought that was not related to the wonderful way the light played on his form. She watched him walk away, marvelling at how the muscles flexed with each step. _How curious for the Qunari to walk about so uncovered,_ she mused _._ The golem wished to see what he was up to, so she followed, surprisingly quiet for such a heavy stone creature.

She found Sten in a small pool of water nearby; he was immersed to his waist and had apparently shed his breeches too, as they were prominently lying on the dry ground. If there had been any blood in her, it would certainly have rushed to her cheeks and made Shale as red as a beetroot. But instead nothing looked out of the ordinary about her exterior as she watched the Qunari rub a small, white block on his skin, producing foam. Soap, she recalled from a long time ago. It was nothing she needed now; certainly she would become dirty from time to time, but a good rain shower (which were very common in Ferelden) took care of that just perfectly.

The Qunari and the other creatures required baths however, as they were covered by clothing or armour and mostly preferred to take shelter from the rain. And how grateful she was for that. Sten, who was covered by a half-transparent layer of bubbles through which the dark tinge of his skin shone, held his breath to fully submerge himself in the water. Then he emerged, and oh, what a sight it was. It was as if time had slowed to a crawl for the golem secretly watching from the shrubbery. Whipping back his head, the Qunari sent an arc of droplets through the air, water dripping down his broad chest, down his beautifully defined abdominal muscles.

Enthralled, her eyes were fixed on the man's backside as he crawled out of the shallow pool, skin slick and shining. And when she caught sight of the front, well, it nearly blew her usually so strong mind. Between his muscular legs, the Qunari had something Shale vaguely remembered from her time as a dwarf and more recently from the brazen human pairs who had dared to couple in her shade as she stood frozen in Honnleath. But never had she seen one so large, so impressive, so _interesting_. A strange development that she should find the upright, rigid-looking organ so interesting, for wasn't she a stone creature who had no use whatsoever for such things?

Any wonders at her own state of mind were quickly erased as Sten gripped himself, slowly running his hand up the hardened shaft. Shale caught herself making a moaning noise at the sight of this. Never had she cursed her existence as a nigh invincible golem, but she certainly did now. Had she still been that dwarven woman, she would have just marched right over there. Surely he would need some help with that very large thing in his hand, no?

The thought of her squishy self bending down to wrap her lips around the purple tip of Sten's erection brought a blissful smile to her face. This smile widened even further as she watched how he kept on stroking himself, biting his lip in concentration, eyes half lidded. Occasionally a low, feral groan would escape him, a beautiful noise that was like music to Shale's ears. She was completely mesmerized, her eyes glued to every move of his slowly stroking hand.

Eventually every muscle of the Qunari's frame pulled taut. The grip he had on his member tightened as well, and with a half-suppressed moan he finished. A small trickle of seed flowed down his hand; a few droplets landed onto the ground. How Shale wished she still had a sense of taste. She stayed a little longer to watch the giant take a brief dip in the pool to become clean, but left as he was busy towelling himself off. It might become a bit awkward if he caught her spying on him.

The golem chuckled to herself as she quietly made her way back to camp. The traditional dwarven greeting was the source of her amusement; she was beginning to view it in a whole different light after what she had just seen. _Stone met indeed_.


	2. The Messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pick happens upon a strange scene as he attempts to deliver a message to King Cailan.

### The Messenger

"You there, lad." Teyrn Loghain beckons me. "What is your name?"

"I-it's Pick, my lord." Andraste's ass, it's Teyrn Loghain himself! The Hero of River Dane! Breathe, Pick, breathe. Don't start gushing like a girl now. I've never had the honour of delivering a message for him.

The Teyrn nods. "Very well, Pick. Tell King Cailan I have need of him at the War Council." Once again the man bends over his papers with plans and strategies.

"Right away, my lord." With a bow I take my leave and head for the king's tent. Being a messenger is a tough job. At least I won't be getting fat with all this running around. Not that I'm fed enough to get fat from. "Is King Cailan in?" I ask the guard posted before the king's tent.

The man shakes his head. "No, the king is with the Grey Wardens at the moment."

"Thank you, ser." _Of_ _course_ he is with the Grey Wardens, right on the other side of camp. And it's not like Ostagar is particularly small either. A messenger's job is never done.

I walk into the Wardens' tent without announcing myself, as per their instructions; there is always someone who needs a message brought to this group. Normally I just see some of them lounging around, caring for their weapons, reading, or talking amongst each other. What I am seeing now, however, I had never dreamed of seeing.

The entire floor of the tent is littered with naked bodies, limbs eagerly twined together, flesh gleaming with sweat. I had no idea the Grey Wardens engaged in such activities. I must say I'm impressed. There a trio of men is writhing in pleasure, tongues licking and fingers grabbing what they can. Even the Warden recruit I heard moping about his pregnant wife is busying himself with another man, hair clipped so short he's almost bald, who seems to be having great fun in pleasuring him with his mouth. There, the other Warden recruit (David or something, I think his name is), has the youngest of the Grey Wardens bent over before him. Usually this Alistair looks a little sad, but right now his face carries an expression of pure bliss.

In this scene of unbridled passion, everyone is engaged with everyone. Hands caressing, tongues stroking, hips pumping. The air is filled with pleasured moans and groans, heavy breathing and the scent of sex and sweat. You'd think I would be more surprised, or shocked even. Truth is, as an elven servant you're all but invisible and thus I've seen a lot of depraved things. Usually not on this large a scale, though. I suppose it might have shocked me a few years ago, but when you walk in on your master doing certain unspeakable things (involving mabari, ball-gags, midgets, leather ladies' gowns and plenty of lubricating oil) several times, the element of surprise gets lost quite quickly.

The Warden-Commander probably doesn't know his men are behaving in such a way. I heard he's off somewhere, getting another recruit for the order. Such a beautiful sight this is. Too bad I can't stay. These messages won't deliver themselves.

Ah, and there is the man I seek. His Majesty's always meticulously groomed hair is a mess, knotted from the hands of his partner tangled into it. The woman who is riding him so enthusiastically appears to be a soldier, judging from the helmet perched atop her head. Thick locks of ash blonde hair are dancing wildly around her shoulders. Even for a female soldier though, this young lady is beautifully voluptuous, her creamy skin smooth and soft-looking. That helmet is probably not hers.

"Your Highness?" I approach him quietly, so as not to bother anyone. Not that I need to; even if I'd walked in screaming, banging a pair of cymbals together, nobody would have looked up. How absorbed they are in their activities. "Teyrn Loghain sent me with a message for you."

Even before the man can answer, his playmate cranes her neck to look at me. Her cheeks are dotted with the cutest freckles. "My other hole feels _so_ empty," she complains, her voice sultry and full of lust. "Won't you fill it for me, pretty boy?" She crooks her finger and beckons me. A fire is burning in her clear blue eyes.

King Cailan nods. "You may tell me what Loghain wants later. For now," with a wide grin he pats his partner's backside, "join in the fun, friend."

"Please?" the woman writhing in his lap purrs, reaching out to brush the front of my trousers with her fingers. She will like what she feels there, I think.

"Certainly, my lady." I position myself behind her lovely plump behind, struggling to get the laces on my pants open as quickly as I can. "I live to serve." Ah, a messenger's job is tough indeed. But someone's got to do it, right?


	3. Done to Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is wondering what his fellow Warden is doing with Sten inside her tent. The noises they are making speak volumes, but is that really what is happening?

### Done to Death

Alistair's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline when he heard delighted laughter coming from inside his fellow Warden's tent.

"Oh _Sten_ ," her sultry voice purred from behind the canvas. "It's so big! I'm not sure if it will fit..."

"Nonsense, Warden," the Qunari rumbled. "It must." A few rustling noises.

For a moment there was only silence, until it was broken by a feminine gasp. "Sten, please be careful! You're going to ruin it forever if you keep on like this."

"Warden..." There was a tone of annoyance in his voice. "You will be fine; surely this is nothing you haven't done before." A deep grunt followed, accompanied by a low moan from the woman.

"Not with anything this huge, that's for sure," she retorted.

Alistair, who was still as pure as the driven snow, made a face. What in the Maker's name was going on in there? He silently crept up to the tent to hear them better. A cacophony of noise came from within the tent. Noise that made his cheeks burn with embarrassment and, he admitted in shame, excitement as well. Before long he was joined by Zevran.

"What do you think they are doing in there?" the assassin whispered.

Alistair shook his head. "I would rather not think about it."

"And yet here you are, listening in on them." The elf sent him a smug look.

"Can you blame me? This is the first interesting thing that's happened in camp since... Well, since ever." Of course there was the time they had been ambushed by darkspawn, but that hadn't been exactly interesting.

"What are you two doing there?" Oghren unexpectedly shouted.

The two in question turned and simultaneously pressed their index finger to their lips with a "Sssh!". Sten and the Warden, however, were apparently so absorbed in whatever they were doing, that the sounds continued without pause.

The dwarf's face took on his typical lewd expression. It was the look he wore most. "Ah, the big guy and the Warden are coiling the ol' rope, huh?" His mouth stretched into a wide grin. "He's conquering her thaig, exploring her Deep Roads..."

" _Oghren!_ " Alistair's face had become even redder than before. "For all we know, they're not even doing anything sexual."

"No?" Zevran raised a curious eyebrow. "The moaning and grunting does raise some suspicions. And I could have sworn I heard her say something about giving a little hole a good stretch."

The dwarf chuckled. "Always thought he was hung like a bronto."

"Spying, are we?" Morrigan approached, obviously curious at what her companions were up to. "What is...? _Oh_." Her yellow eyes nearly rolled from their sockets as more moans, groans and grunts came from inside.

"They appear to be uhm..." The spying Warden's face nearly had the same colour as the succulent flesh of a beetroot. "They appear to be knocking boots."

The witch rolled her eyes and crossed her arms before her chest. "Perhaps they appear to be, but I strongly doubt that. If even I cannot get a rise out of Sten, then surely _she_ cannot hope to stand a chance!"

"Jealous, are we?" Oghren laughingly prodded her leg with his elbow. "You just wish it's you in there with him."

"Certainly not!" Narrowing her eyes, Morrigan shot him a mean glare. "I am simply disbelieving. If one were to storm in right now, why, I believe one would catch them trying on each other's helmets, or lacing their boots with new string, panting with the exertion. Alistair, you go in."

"What? Why _me_?" he whined.

Zevran patted his shoulder. "You are her friend. Surely she would forgive you for barging into her tent like..."

"Oh Sten, you're killing me!" suddenly echoed all over camp. Judging from the ecstatic sound of her voice, she didn't mind getting killed. Not one bit. Somewhere, Wynne screamed angrily to keep it down, but nobody paid any attention to her.

Alistair immediately jumped to his feet. "That's it! I'm going in!" He was dying to know what was going on in there, and if Sten really was killing her, he might still be able to save her. Without further ado, he pushed away the tent flap and stormed in, calling his fellow Warden's name.

Morrigan had been completely wrong. They weren't trying on each other's helmets, or lacing up their boots. No. Instead, they were both as naked as the day they were born. She was squirming in his lap, engaged in a particularly acrobatic position with one leg draped over his shoulder and the other supported on his arm, raised so high she looked liable to split in two at any moment. A large hand was eagerly kneading her breast. "Alistair, what the _fuck_ do you think you're doing just barging in here?" his colleague cried out in fury. Sten took no notice of his presence, continuing to pump into her and biting her shoulder.

"I... I..." Feeling so ashamed he would have welcomed the earth opening up and swallowing him whole, Alistair slowly backed out of the tent. "I... uhm... Sorry!"

Sometimes, all is exactly as it seems.


	4. The Fountain of Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Grand Cleric Elthina retains her youthful looks.

### The Fountain of Youth

"Sebastian." He looks up, abruptly torn away from his prayers. "It is time," the Grand Cleric tells him. Her voice rings exceptionally loud in the silent and deserted Chantry.

Heat rushes to his face, as it does every time. "Yes, Your Grace." He follows her to her private chambers. There they fulfil the same ritual every single day. Elthina helps him strip off his robes, until not a shred of fabric covers his well-developed frame. Meekly Sebastian takes his usual place. As every day, there on the edge of the holywoman's bed, awaits the only accessory in their private ceremony. The prince slowly impales himself on the sizeable leather cock, already slickened with a lubricating oil beforehand to ensure a smooth run. Being stretched and filled this far has long since ceased to bring him pain.

For a moment he stays still, allowing himself to get used to the feeling. Elthina's eyes skim his form, the serene expression on her face belied by the heat in them. "Please, child, proceed." Her tone betrays no emotion whatsoever.

"Yes, Your Grace," he whispers obediently. Gripping the edge of the bed with both hands, Sebastian raises himself slightly, then moves back down. The jolt of pleasure this sends into his system has him uttering a suppressed groan. With the intentional curve in the realistic reproduction of the male organ, his increasingly faster riding motions stimulate him rather effectively.

The Grand Cleric, advanced in age though she is, kneels before him. "You are doing well, Sebastian." Taking advantage of his fully engorged cock, she seizes him with both hands. Elthina's tongue touches the tip and a long shudder travels through the prince's body. The pressure in his gut is mounting, pleasurable pangs stabbing more and more sharply. The holywoman knows how to use her mouth; her nimble tongue caresses his shaft, her head bobs up and down in sync with his movements.

"Your Grace, I..." A choked moan passes from between his clenched teeth. "I am going to..." With this as her cue, Elthina releases him from her mouth and continues the stimulation by hand. Just like she does every day. Everything turns white before his eyes. His climax rages through his form, wildly and violently. His seed does not trickle or squirt; it flows from him in a long steady stream. The Grand Cleric eagerly drinks it in, an expression of infinite delight on her features. From his half-closed eyes, Sebastian even witnesses the woman rubbing his essence into her skin.

Their daily ritual at an end, Elthina thoroughly cleans every trace of their activities, then helps the young man back into his robes. "Uhm, Your Grace?" he asks tentatively. "Why do you sometimes rub your face with... it?"

"My dear," the holywoman replies, the corners of her mouth twitching. "How else do you think I am able to still look this fresh?"


	5. Killer Curves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden gets awfully hot and bothered when he thinks about a certain lady.

### Killer Curves

The Warden can't get that woman out of his head. Her lovely blue eyes, her sweet smile. The gentle sound of her voice. Those killer curves that are always on display. Her hips so round and full. Breasts begging for his attention. He groans. Why must she keep bouncing through his mind? He is straining against his smallclothes. For a while he tries to fight the urge, but it's impossible. Relief is long overdue and there is only one way to obtain it. Well, two actually, but the first is much easier realized. With trembling fingers he opens his trousers and brings out his rock-hard cock. He's so aroused that a droplet of pre-cum has already formed at the tip. With his thumb he smoothes the fluid down the head. It has such a slick feel to it. A low growl falls from his lips as he grips himself tighter, frantic thoughts tumbling through his brain. Those blue eyes looking up at him, her pink tongue slowly swirling the length of his cock. He bites his lip as he strokes himself firmly; his rigid flesh is throbbing in his hand. The image of that woman straddling his loins, a wicked smile on her lips, makes him grow even more. Her moist sheath enveloping his aching cock while he suckles at her proudly protruding peaks. Sensual gyrating motions of her hips, sexy moans pouring from between her parted lips. His seed flows down his rapidly rubbing hand as everything turns white behind his eyelids; in his imagination, the warm liquid shoots into her wildly contracting cunt. The Warden sinks back into his bedroll. He is feeling incredibly guilty. That lady is old enough to be his grandmother, for Andraste's sake! Alistair hides his head in his pillow with a despairing groan. Why did she have to say that to him at Ostagar?


	6. No Use

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elven Warden gets awfully hot when she thinks about a certain gentleman.

### No Use

The elven Warden suppresses a desperate moan at the touch of her own fingers. Her right hand is between her quivering thighs; a thin sheen of sweat coats her creamy skin. The thought of him is driving her crazy yet again. Her clit jumps against her fingers as she strokes it ever so gently. Even that light touch is enough to send delicious shivers down her spine. Her free hand cups her perky breast, lightly kneading the firm flesh. She imagines him there with her; his warm breath makes her skin break out in goose bumps as he places a row of kisses down her slender neck. Sweat beads on her brow. Her thumb takes over, teasing her clit while middle and index fingers dive deep. She softly moans out his name, envisioning his lips moving down her taut stomach. Why is she so attracted to him? It's got to be those gorgeous eyes. Simply the thought of them is making her even wetter. His tongue is between her legs now, licking the cream flowing so copiously from her pink folds. She can almost feel the stubble on his chin scraping against her inner thigh. Her thumb and fingers are working harder now, the muscles in her legs flexing with her impending climax. In her mind's eye, he places himself between her thighs and pushes his hard cock into her. The pressure in her stomach mounts as he fucks her with hard, slow, deep strokes; mouth opened in a silent scream, she comes. The violent waves ravage her senses like a hurricane. Finally, she sighs and opens her eyes. It's no use. The Warden wraps herself in her bedroll, heart still hammering in her chest. A frustrated tear slips from her eye. She ought to stop tormenting herself like this. With a dejected sigh, she pulls the covers over her head. He'll never forget about that crazy bitch Branka.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This spawned another story that can be found in Naughty Narratives of the Dragon Age somewhere. I'd tell you which chapter, but I'm lazy.


	7. Apple Pie and Special Sauce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodahn is rather peckish and finds a jar of special sauce to sate his cravings. Very, very special sauce.

### Apple Pie and Special Sauce

Bodahn is so peckish. In the middle of the night he bolted upright in bed, with his stomach rumbling like an avalanche. It still is. The dwarf has gone through all of the kitchen cabinets in the Hawke mansion for a snack, but there are no snacks. Sure, there is this loaf of bread – without anything on it, however, the slightly stale loaf would taste like cardboard. Hunger isn't always the best sauce.

Ah, but what have we here? Triumphantly Bodahn emerges from the back of a kitchen cabinet with a small jar. _Jorman's Special Sauce_ , it says on the label. The sauce itself is an attractive brown colour, the smell – upon popping off the top – is earthy, spicy and utterly delicious. After dunking in his finger and licking it off, our dwarf finds that the taste is just as appealing. Ravenously he tears piece after piece off the loaf, dunks it in the sauce and wolfs it down. Before long, not a crumb is left and the jar has been scraped clean. Bodahn burps in utter contentment, rubbing his belly.

A different kind of hunger suddenly seizes the poor dwarf's senses. Blood rushes to his loins, sending his cock rearing up. The organ is rock-hard and throbbing. His heartbeat is pounding in his temples, a sensation of unbridled lust flooding him. This never happens to Bodahn. The befuddled dwarf sees no other solution than to whip out his tool and start beating his meat. He is surprised at how good it feels; it certainly has been more than a while since the last time. His hand flies up and down his length. His tumescent flesh feels almost feverishly hot. It doesn't take Bodahn long to cover his hands in cum.

But oh, no! The swelling hasn't even gone down a little bit. There is nothing else for it: Bodahn must rinse and repeat aforementioned activities. Five orgasms later his brain is incredibly fuzzy, but his cock just as steely as when he began. What can he do? Now he is both horny and desperate. Our dwarf chances to look at the window sill and spies the apple pie Lady Leandra has baked a few hours ago. He'd forgotten all about that pie. Thinking about that warm filling, so much like a woman's deepest recesses, has his mouth watering and his cock dribbling. But he can't do that, can he? That's the master's dessert for tomorrow. One look at the blisters on the palm of his hand, though, and his mind is made up.

On her way back from the privy, Leandra hears a strange noise. Clutching a heavy, ornate candleholder tightly in her fingers, she creeps closer. What are these moans and grunts all about? She fears robbers, but decides to take a quick look before running to her child for aid. After all, what would robbers want in their kitchen? The strangest sight greets her there: trusty, faithful Bodahn, moaning and grunting as he is fucking the apple pie she had intended for their dessert the following day. Well, she can't see anybody eating that now.

Alerted by a presence, the dwarf looks up from his pleasurable – if unconventional – activity. Lady Leandra is regarding him with an impassive expression on her face. Bodahn gasps for air; his jaw snaps open and shut, unsure of what to say. "I… I…"

"No, that is quite all right, Bodahn," replies the old lady. "I will bake another pie in the morning." She turns on her heel and walks away, but not before mischievously saying over her shoulder: "Do use a plate next time."

Bodahn looks down at the sloppy apple filling dripping down his cock and notes that the swelling has finally gone down. At least he's got that going for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the Viagra spam that Hawke receives in his mansion. _Flag flying at half-mast? Does your dwarf shy away from the Deep Roads? Does your soldier not stand to attention? (...) Be the man other men want to be. Be the man you DESERVE to be._ Cracks me up every time.


End file.
